


Dark Night People

by diemme



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Caribbean Folklore, F/M, Folklore, Gen, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Rammstein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemme/pseuds/diemme
Summary: Paul, Till, Richard and Flake meet at Till's inn for a night of drinking and camaraderie. Their evening becomes more complicated with the arrival of a dark stranger.
Relationships: Christian Lorenz | Flake/Jenny Rosemeyer, Oliver Riedel/Original Female Character(s), Paul Landers/Arielle Troß, Paul Landers/Till Lindemann, Till Lindemann/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in a fictional village circa 1850s with period specific technology and attitudes. Magic and supernatural creatures exist.

The children’s festival was over. The pageant performed in the village hall, the parade through the main streets and the consumption of far too many sweets had gone off without a hitch. The Landers family had wound up a good day with tea at the Lindemann Inn. The Landers caught up cheerfully with the villagers and the other farm families that bordered the village proper. The elder Landers would spend the next few days with their married daughter settled in the village. Arielle, the children and the farmhand were starting for home in the cart. Paul would remain behind to visit with Till, the proprietor of the inn and his longtime friend, and ride home later that night. She left Paul with a kiss and a teasing warning about the ladies who frequented Till’s bar in the evening.

“Keep yourself decent, Paul Landers,” Arielle ruffled his short brown hair, “or you will come home to find that I’ve taken up with Tomas and your clothes are in the pigsty!”

Tomas, the farmhand, who had been with them for ten years, never looked up from the clapping game he was playing with the two youngest children, “Aye, Mistress Landers.”

Paul laughed, kissed her again and bid the children farewell. He watched them down the long road out of the village before returning to the Inn. The best in the village, Lindemann’s Inn was a long, low, two storey, stone building with two wings. The main house contained the kitchen, dining room, common room and bar. One wing held the bedrooms, private sitting rooms and indoor privies. The Lindemann family and their staff lived in the other.

Paul slipped into the bar and hung up his cloak. Till Lindemann, dark haired, broad shouldered and imposing enough to make the worst troublemakers think twice, looked up at Paul with a furrowed brow. “Paul Landers, I’ll have you know that your son has been making eyes at my daughter.”

Paul took a seat and leaned his elbows on the smooth, dark wood of the bar. “They’re ten years old, Till, is it that serious?”

“Nele beat him at a game of marbles,” Till set a pint down before Paul without being asked. “That little shit of a Tobias Miller said he’d obviously let her win. Emil declared that he’d done no such thing and that if Tobias didn’t keep quiet he’d shut his mouth for him.”

“Defense of his fair lady’s skills and a threat to the town bully,” Paul beamed with pride in his son before taking a long sip. “All right, that is pretty serious. Well, it’s up to you and Nele but, when he comes to make his offer, Till, remember that he’s a hardworking lad and a reasonably good scholar.”

“The girl wants to become a mercenary like Richard, apparently,” Till grumbled. “I’ll admit I’ll be grateful if Emil could talk her out of _that!_ He’s here for a few days, by the way.”

“Richard?” Paul was glad to hear it. Richard had grown up in the village and done his best to keep up with Till and Paul though he was a few years younger and a scrawny kid besides. He’d been the village scrapegrace; much petted and indulged by the girls for his blue eyes, black curls and impish smile. Their mothers had commiserated over his home life - neglected by his indifferent mother and bullied by his stepfather.

Richard had left the village for the army as a skinny fifteen year old. He had returned at twenty-four, taller than Paul and nearly as broad as Till. His brash and competitive nature had been tempered and the blue gaze was far less open and innocent but his smile was as ready and roguish as ever. Girls were still charmed, their mothers were hopeful and fathers willing to be convinced. Richard had broken all hearts at once by moving to the nearest large city and falling in with a group of mercenaries there. Now he earned his living mainly by providing private protection to travelers and goods caravans across the area. Every six months or so he returned to the village to pay a duty visit to his mother and a more congenial one to Till and his old friends. Those charmed girls were married now or into vocations but still deeply interested in talk of a sweetheart in the city or sign of a ring.

“Yes, his band was attacked while escorting a convoy to Port Zerne. They drove the robbers off but a few of them were badly hurt. Richard’s fine,” Till clarified in response to Paul’s anxious look. “Just a slash across the ribs but they’re not taking on new jobs until the injured recover and they recruit a few more men.”

“Good thing Richard never wanted a quiet life,” Paul shook his head. “Oh, here’s Flake.” He stood as the tall, thin man whose family kept the Apothecary approached and they clasped hands affectionately.

“I thought you’d still be about, Paul. I saw your lad escorting Nele home this afternoon.” Till gave Paul a significant look before setting a pint before the new arrival. Paul sighed dramatically as they sat down again. “Yes, it’s all a bit sudden but we think a Spring wedding will be lovely.” Flake’s blue eyes widened in surprise before he noticed Till rolling his.

“Ah, a joke.” “Yes, Flake,” Till replied patiently. “For the next several years at least. Look, there’s Richard. You two grab him and a table and I’ll bring dinner and join you. You’re not expected home are you, Flake?” Flake shook his head and Till disappeared into the kitchen. Paul was already greeting Richard with a warm embrace.

“My nemesis,” Richard greeted Flake as he approached. “

Pest,” Flake nodded amiably.

“Good to see nothing’s changed,” Paul chuckled. Richard and Flake had always had a cheerfully contentious relationship fueled by a tinge of jealously over Till, Paul believed. Till had always been staunchly loyal and had beat the shit out of any other boy who bullied and tormented his friends. Girl bullies soon learned that a shunning by popular Till meant a shunning by all their age mates. To skinny, frail and clumsy Flake and lonely, vulnerable Richard, Till had been a hero.

“He’s been hounding the shop for two days,” Flake complained as they sat down. “Flirting with my wife and begging me for ointments.”

“And getting no satisfaction from either of you,” Richard declared. “I expected nothing from Jenny - devoted wife that she is - but I thought you could at least be bribed.”

“Did they not stitch you up in Port Zerne?” Paul frowned. “What else do you need?”

“Flake’s magic fingers! I don’t want another scar!”

Paul laughed at this. Flake had been assessed as having some potential for magic while at school. The village Wise Woman had even offered to train him in what free time he could spare from his apprenticeship at the apothecary despite the local belief that magic could only adeptly be wielded by women. The training certainly expanded Flake’s knowledge of herbs and other medicinal plants and earned him the love of the Wise Woman’s eldest daughter but had been a flop otherwise. Still, the village matrons claimed Flake’s potions and preparations were the only ones their children would swallow without complaint and his skin soothing and clearing lotions were in the highest demand.

“How are you still so vain after all those years of being a soldier?” Paul demanded. Richard lifted his chin and smiled smugly. “Flake, take his money and be done with it. Why should a city apothecary prosper over you?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Flake pushed the end of his chestnut ponytail off his shoulder nervously. “We’ll be adding another place at the table next year, anyhow.”

“Flake!” Paul reached across the table and clasped his friend’s hand. “That’s wonderful news.” Richard squeezed Flake’s shoulder and beamed at him. Till approached at that moment bearing a laden tray. One of his barmaids followed with a jug and clean mugs.

“So you’ve told them?” Till asked once the barmaid departed with the empty tray. Flake nodded blushed a rosy pink as though this was his first instead of his fourth. Richard dished lamb stew into bowls while Paul filled the tin mugs with beer.

“Yes but it isn’t general knowledge yet. Jenny’s gathering the family this Sunday. So keep it to yourselves ‘til then.”

Paul and Till were well trained and experienced husbands and nodded. Richard had enough experience with women to know that stealing a wife’s thunder was unwise. He nodded too. They tucked into the excellent stew and rolls spread with creamy butter.

The clientele at the bar began to change as the men who dropped in for a quick pint before supper left for home and the evening crowd gathered: the widowed men, the older unmarried ones, married couples with children old enough to be left and the young, as yet childless couples. Courting couples preferred the common room and gardens and long walks where kisses and cuddles went unremarked. Then there were the old drunks who seemed always to be there. Paul recognized Jonas Ward, a cheerful sod who usually treated the room to a song before trickling home to his long suffering daughter and son in law and old Peter Gralt who had been deteriorating since his son’s death three months earlier.

Till left them for a while to assist his barmaids and turn up the lamps. Oliver Riedel, whose family kept the farriers, waved and nodded at the three on his way out. “No decent music tonight,” Richard declared, frowning. Oliver was a talented double bass in a group of lively young musicians.

“His Anna is due soon with their second.”

“Goodness, does anyone do anything else in this village?” Richard grumbled.

“You’re decent enough on the viola if you want music,” Flake pointed out.

“I can’t play for a few weeks with this injury.”

“No prospects for little ones of your own, Richard?” Paul inquired.

“Women aren’t that keen to start families with men in danger of never coming home again and without any money to represent them,” Richard shrugged. “Mercenary work doesn’t offer a pension like the army did.” He smirked, “My bed is seldom empty even so.”

Paul subsided, it sounded terribly lonely to him. He thought of Arielle’s passion and liveliness, the chatter and laughter of his children, the wisdom and support of his parents and the warmth and love that saturated his home. He exchanged a quick look with Flake who seemed to be thinking along similar lines. No parade of lovers could compare to that. Neither thought of saying a word to Richard who despised pity and had been once described by Till as a peacock and a hedgehog in one.

The wind was getting up outside and the sound was evident over the chatter when the bar’s door opened and a figure in a black cloak stepped in. A man, Paul assumed, by the height and width of the shoulders. A hand pushed the cowl back to reveal a tumble of dark curls before the man unclasped his cloak and folded it over his arm. Definitely a stranger to the village if his dress was anything to go by. The man’s black leggings looked molded to his long, lean legs and black, silver buckled boots rode high up his calves. His high necked tunic was black as well and the sleeves were short and tight enough to barely deserve the name. As the stranger turned, Paul noticed that the tunic was corseted down the back. He wore nothing beneath it, pale skin visible through the lacing.

“Bold choice in fashion,” Richard muttered.

“Impractical for this time of year, I’d say,” Flake almost tutted. Autumn had settled in with a purpose and the wind had been rising all day. Still, the bar was warmed by a good fire and the man’s cloak was thick velvet from cowl to hem they noticed as the stranger came further into the bar.

“Never seen him before,” said Paul. “Have you, Flake?”

“No. Perhaps he’s just here for the festival,” Flake looked puzzled as the other two chuckled into their beer.

“Certainly, Flake, a man got himself up like that to visit our village for the tykes’ pageant and parade,” Richard grinned.

The stranger approached the bar and rested a hand on the polished wood until Till had the time to tend to him. His almost bare arms were well defined and strong, the skin smooth and flawless. An active man, apparently, but not one who physically toiled for a living. The man leaned in a bit to Till and spoke. Till took a step back but nodded and called to one of his maids for wine and invited the stranger to seat himself.

The man’s progression through the room to a seat near the fire reminded Paul of the farm kitchen cat sauntering out to lie in the sun: head high, tail up and indifferent to the barking of the dogs or the blandishments of the children. There was no hint of awareness of the women’s admiring glances and whispers and their male companions’ subsequent annoyance on his face. It was an unusually handsome face which a strong chin and prominent nose saved from prettiness. High cheekbones were framed by dark, curly hair falling nearly to his shoulders. His eyes were striking - the clear, bright, light blue of a winter’s morning sky.

“Stop staring,” Richard hissed, pinching the inside of Paul’s arm, hard, as the stranger swept past their table.

“What?” Paul turned bemusedly to Richard as the stranger passed them. He rubbed his arm, “I wasn’t staring.

“You were,” Richard retorted, “just like when you were thirteen and noticed all the girls of your year in school were growing breasts.”

Paul rounded on Richard to defend himself but paused at the sight of Flake who had his arms wrapped round himself and was actually shivering. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” Flake’s tone was plaintive. “I came over cold all of a sudden, as though I’d fallen into icy water.”

“You look well enough,” Richard judged. Certainly, Flake’s eyes were clear and his complexion was no paler than it was usually. Richard put a hand on his friend’s forehead as Paul sent a passing barmaid on a quest for mulled wine. “You _are_ cold but you’re warming up.”

Till returned presently with Flake’s wine and the three friends watched the fourth closely as he sipped. When they were children the joke was they could mark the turn of the seasons by Flake’s colds but that hadn’t been true for years. “Is your throat clear?” Till inquired.

“It is,” Flake made a few exaggerated swallows to prove it. “My head doesn’t ache and I don’t feel congested. It was just that awful sudden cold.”

“Someone walking over your grave,” Till suggested cheerfully.

“Funny it happened just as Paul went cow eyed over the stranger,” Richard mused, glancing over to the man who was being served wine and treated to a view of the shoulders and décolletage of Till’s prettiest barmaid. She hadn’t offered Richard that close a view all night but the girl had her living to earn and the stranger appeared to be a man of some means. The stranger’s gaze didn’t linger but tipped well enough if the girl’s widened eyes and breathless “thank you, Sir,” were any hint.

“But you did, Paul, you did,” Richard turned back to hear Flake’s earnest insistence. The other man gave a pleased chuckle and drained the last of the mulled wine. “You stared at the stranger like a man bewitched.”

“Maybe he’s one of them - the fair folk.” Till had quite an imagination and gift for storytelling.

Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a tale for the dark season, ‘The Fairy Traveler.’ What, Till?” For the innkeeper had just sworn quietly and his eyes darkened.

“It makes me wonder…Three months ago, on the night that young Peter Gralt died, there was a fancy dress party at the Hall,” Till lowered his voice. “None of you attended.”

“Jenny and I intended to go,” Flake fiddled with his goblet. “But the older folks had already gone and the children were spending the weekend with Jenny’s mam as a treat.” Flake would probably blush like a bridegroom when he was a grandfather.

“Again, no one does anything else in this village,” Richard frowned.

“Have done, Richard,” Paul chided. “You can suit yourself in matters of romance but few married couples here would turn down the opportunity of an empty house for a few hours. It had rained nearly all that week and the roads were bad, you remember. Arielle was worried about being stranded away from the children if we came. But, go on with your tale, Till.”

“Maria and I put in a few hours at the dance then I came back here. There’s always a few that want something stronger than punch.” The three others nodded. “By midnight we were busy enough but I noticed a stranger came in.”

“Is that so unusual, Till?” Richard asked. “Dornalt is the largest village in these parts but there are half a dozen smaller settlements within twenty miles. Some of them have always driven in for dances and things.”

“You’ve lived away too long, Richard. You’ve forgotten they don’t count as strangers,” Flake demurred. “Half of Dornalt are third cousins to at least two of the villages round here. You might not know someone by sight but your great aunt on your mother’s side probably does.”

“And the roads were poor as I said,” Paul added. “It would have kept those away who didn’t have family in the village to take them in if necessary.”

“All right, someone who couldn’t be placed, then,” Richard conceded. “But why does it matter, Till?”

“Didn’t say it mattered,” Till went on, “it was just unusual. _He_ was unusual..”

“Well don’t leave us in suspense,” Richard took out a pipe and filled it. “What was this stranger like?”

“Youngish - twenty five or so,” Till leaned back in his chair. “Tall like your man over there,” he cast a discreet look at the dark stranger, “but lankier with it, not so filled out. And he was fair haired, almost silver but that might have been artifice for the dance.”

“There are dyes and things you can comb in for that effect,” Flake nodded. 

“He was good looking in a pretty sort of way. His face was painted like a woman’s and his dress was outlandish even for a fancy dress party,” Till shook his head. “The sleeves were all cut away to show off his arms.”

“So he wanted to show off for the girls,” Paul grinned over his drink at his friends. “Richard does that often enough.” Richard tossed his head in a ‘guilty as charged’ gesture.

“Richard usually gets something tangible out of it, though,” Till pointed out slyly. “He’s not content just to sit and be admired.” “So your fair stranger didn’t try to lure girls into dark corners?” Flake shrugged. “Perhaps he considered village girls beneath his notice?”

Richard laughed, “You’re as innocent as newborn lambs, you lot. He probably wasn’t interested in women at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night progresses. The four friends pay more attention to the stranger. He notices them back - one in particular.

The other three kept silent and looked abashed. Such relationships didn’t happen in Dornalt. Children played physically and had sentimental friendships with their own sex. Men and women married each other and raised families. Paul and Till exchanged a glance. They both remembered hot summer days stripped down to nothing by the lake when the changes in their bodies and the odd new feelings they provoked drove them to touch and explore. Till’s was the only hand that had touched Paul intimately besides Arielle’s and his own.

Flake tapped his fingers nervously against the stem of his goblet, “Do you see much of that in the city?”

“A fair bit,” Richard shrugged feeling in his pockets for his matches. “The chief of my company prefers men.”

“So, this man?” Paul asked with a tilt of his chin. The stranger appeared to be listening to a story being related by two local elderly men animated by alcohol and a new audience.

“I set eyes on him the same time you did, Paul,” Richard replied crossly. “I noticed he didn’t take a second look at Greta’s cleavage but that could equally mean that he’s a faithful lover or a priest as he might prefer his own sex.”

Paul didn’t answer. Till began a story about a priest who _had_ noticed Greta’s cleavage and tried to recruit her and the other barmaids to his church. A church not devoted to any of the gods at all. Richard lit his pipe and added his opinion of said priest. Flake mentioned how quickly and ignominiously the priest had left the village - on a hay wain instead of waiting for the stagecoach.

Their conversation faded to the background for Paul whose eyes were drawn to the stranger again. He was puzzled by his own fascination. His experiences with Till had been out of boyish need and curiosity. He had never before been intrigued by an adult male. Paul wouldn’t call it attraction. He hadn’t experienced _that_ for anyone else since falling in love with Arielle save passing notice of other pretty women of her type. Perhaps the raciness of the stranger’s clothes and his consciousness of his own good looks made him more feminine to Paul’s brain?

Perhaps the sidelong, lowered lashed glances _were_ a bit feminine. Paul had no example of male coquettish behaviour besides Richard who never seemed to do the same thing twice. Paul had never flirted, he was sure. He had declared his love to Arielle the first time she had permitted him to walk her home from school and requested permission to court her when they were older. She had laughed a great deal, Paul remembered, but had agreed to consider his suit when the time came.

“I suppose that answers that.” Paul was aware of Richard speaking as though from far away.

“Sorry?” Paul pulled his gaze and thoughts back to his friends. “Were you speaking to me?”

“What’s wrong with you, Paul?” Till sounded actually puzzled and his eyes were wide with surprise. “I’ve never known you look at anyone besides Arielle like that.” They all looked from Paul to the stranger who was looking back at Paul with the hint of a smile on his lips. The blue eyes roamed over Paul’s torso in a fairly frank once over. The stranger raised his brows briefly as though in question and turned back to the old drunks who had never stopped chattering at him.

Till coloured, “If he was a woman I’d consider a look like that was an invitation to approach.”

“It _was_ an invitation as clear as if it were written on monogrammed paper and sent through the post,” Richard countered. “A come hither look is pretty much the same from a man as from a woman,” he grinned at Paul. “Other things work differently, though, so you’ll be in for a few surprises.”

“Shut up, Richard!” Till’s tone was unusually sharp. “Paul isn’t considering anything like that. You’re disrespecting Arielle by your insinuations!”

“More disrespectful than her husband undressing someone else with his eyes?” Richard responded hotly, always sensitive to the slightest hint of criticism from Till. “Really?”

Paul shook his head as if to clear it, he felt as though he’d been caught up in a rainstorm. Flake was hunched down in his chair as much a very tall, long limbed man could - he’d always hated conflict. He looked like an anxious newborn colt. He sighed. If they were all reverting to their ten year old selves then it was up to him to be peacemaker.

He rapped on the table. “Stop it you two! Richard didn’t endure a hundred stitches and a night of being only the second handsomest man in the room for you to be sniping at each other and scaring Flake.”

Richard flopped back in his chair, “It was only twenty five stitches and you are ridiculous!” An outraged snort came from Flake’s direction but he said nothing.

“Perhaps so,” Paul agreed, “but there’s no need for you two to argue. Look how you’ve upset Flake.” Till and Richard both looked ashamed and Flake sat up indignantly in his chair.

“You know I’m a bit of a yokel, growing up on the farm,” Paul shrugged. “ You’ve seen a lot more of life and the world outside, Richard. Even Till and Flake living in the village proper. I got distracted by something different and pretty is all.”

“I’m sorry,” Till stared down at the table and rubbed the back of his neck with a large hand. “I shouldn’t have spoken about you like that, Paul or to you like that, Richard.”

“Perhaps my speech was vulgar,” Richard admitted. “I didn’t mean for it to be and I know Arielle’s the only one in your heart.”

“Every man alive has someone else in his eye once,” Flake shrugged. “Jenny’s mam was once training a young woman, Gitta, she had the prettiest hands and the most elegant fingers I’d ever seen.”

“What became of her?” Richard asked, smothering a smile at how typically Flake it was to be attracted by beautiful hands.

“She moved up to one of the big mountain towns,” Flake replied candidly. “They needed healers with all the travelers and the winter sports. Hands aside, she was nothing compared to Jenny.”

The opening lines of ‘The Noble Knight’ burst in on their reconciliation. They all looked up to see Jonas Ward doing his bit to entertain Till’s patrons. The two elderly imbibers were making their way to the front of the room, eager to add their voices to the folk song. The tall stranger was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did he vanish to, then?” Flake glanced round.

“Good riddance!” declared Richard whom the others judged to be a bit shirty at playing second fiddle all night. He only smiled stiffly when pretty Greta swept past with her tray to collect empty mugs and goblets. The barmaid stopped at Till’s side as he gestured to her.

“Sir?”

“When did that man leave? The stranger in the black cloak.”

“I know who you meant, Sir,” Greta’s lips twitched in amusement. “Just a moment before the singing started. He paid his bill and his company’s as well,” she nodded at the two old men who were now singing and capering. “Tipped well too and then he was off.”

“He didn’t mention staying at the inn?”

“No, Sir, I would have checked with you if he had, Sir!” Greta drew herself up indignantly. With a family of daughters and a staff of mainly young women to be responsible for, Till vetted all male guests as far as possible.

“Of course you would, Greta. It was silly of me to ask,” Till placated. “Go along now, the others must need your help.”

“Wonderfully handsome he was. Like a prince out of a story!” Greta sighed before she left with a swirl of skirts.

Jonas Ward concluded his song and sailed off into the night. His son in law would be round the next Monday to settle his tab. Old Peter Gralt paid his own and staggered out. One of Till’s grooms would follow him discreetly to ensure he made it safely to his own house.

One of the elderly men who had been sitting with the stranger approached Till, “Herr Lindemann,” he clapped the innkeeper on the shoulder, “who was the generous young man who paid for our drinks? I’d like to thank him.”

“You were the ones sitting next to him and talking his ear off, Frank Weber,” Richard interjected. “Did it never occur to you to ask his name?”

“No, it did not, you whippersnapper!” Weber pointed a finger at Richard. “I suppose it should have but he didn’t speak much at all. Listened well, though, not often a young man takes the time to listen to an old man’s gossip.” He spoke suddenly in the melancholy tone of a man with too much time on his hands and little to fill it.

“Give us the gossip, then,” Richard said kindly, rising to offer Weber his seat and pulling one from an empty table.

“You’re a good lad for all your traveling in foreign parts,” Weber nodded at Richard who hid a smile at that. “Have you heard the latest news about Widow Frings?”

“Has she found a new husband?” Paul asked with no thought of being humorous. The lady in question had buried four of them.

“No, that’s women’s gossip!” Weber lowered his voice, “Widow Frings was passing the pond near Drake’s boardinghouse. You know how it butts right up to the forest?” The other men nodded. “She says she saw a man coming naked out of the water and that he had…,” Weber paused as though he were embarrassed and the others leaned in closer, “one cloven foot.”

Till snorted and the others sat back in their chairs looking disappointed. “Really, Herr Weber!” Paul scoffed. “You had me thinking the man had a double headed dick at least and then you trot out the old cloven foot.”

“Take that up with Widow Frings,” the old man folded his arms. “It’s her claim.”

“Has Widow Frings ever noticed any part of a man besides his purse?” Flake mused. “I’ve heard her rank her husbands in order of money they left: my dear Hans who left me $1000, my darling Andreas who left me $3000, my beloved, dearest Max who left me his shop and $5000.”

Weber burst into laughter and pointed at Flake, “You wouldn’t think he could joke to look at him!”

“You missed out one,” Richard observed as Flake looked bemused, obviously wondering what the joke was.

“That would be her dear Michael,” Weber supplied. “Her first husband who died young and only left her his mother. Twas that which turned her on to comfortable old bachelors.” Weber’s crony shouted for him and he bustled off.

Paul sighed, “Well, I’m _not_ a bachelor and I need to start for home before my wife considers widowhood.” Flake nodded in agreement and they both stood.

“I’ll come to the farm for a few days next week, shall I?” Richard asked.

“Certainly,” Paul grinned and glanced from Flake to Till. “If these two get permission to be out all night we can have one of our old sleepovers in the barn.”

“I’m not sure your father ever got over the last one,” Till grinned. “I got home the next day and the news had already made it to the village. My dad was waiting with the strap.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Paul chuckled. “This time no one will get drunk and try to pick a fight with a herd of cows because he thought one was looking at him funny.” Till and Richard cackled at the memory while Flake ignored them pointedly and flounced off for his outdoor things.

“What was in that flask you bought that night, Till? Richard asked. “I had two sips and fell asleep. I woke in Frau Landers’ vegetable garden to Paul’s sister shrieking about storks and cabbage patches.”

Till ducked his head almost shyly, a lock of black hair falling over his eyes and making him look like the scamp of a teenager he’d been, “A little of this and a little of that. I just took a bit out of the barrels - beer, ale, wine even port and brandy.” He laughed at the wide eyed looks of the others. “That’s what earned me the strap. Brandy and port weren’t cheap.”

Paul shook his whole body and gagged in mock disgust. Richard pulled a face, “No wonder I couldn’t touch alcohol for three years afterwards,” he reached for his pipe again.

“You found other vices,” Till observed.

Flake appeared at Paul’s elbow and shoved his cloak at him, “I told them to bring your horse around.”

“Thank you, Flake,” Paul donned his cloak. “Come on outside before we broil.”

Till and Richard trailed after them. “I’ll leave a message with Emil at school in a few days,” Richard promised as they stepped out into the silver bright night. “There’s been a teaching change since I was here last. I saw the young lady at the parade but didn’t have a chance to introduce myself and welcome her.”

Till groaned, “Goodnight!” and turned to go back inside.

“Till, wait,” Flake called. “You never finished your story about the night of the dance. What became of the stranger?”

“Nothing exciting,” Till shrugged. “He paid his bill and I saw him walk out the door. I assume he returned to wherever he belonged. Goodnight, Flake.” Flake nodded as Till returned to the inn.

The stable boy had brought Paul’s horse, Minette, - a pretty, sturdy brown mare - and Richard was making much of her. “Is no female safe from your base attentions?” Richard made a rude gesture and returned to crooning and stroking the horse’s neck. Paul fastened his cloak and popped a knitted hat on his head. Flake reached out to curl his fingers in the mare’s mane absently, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You could come to mine tonight.”

“Really, Flake, one man flirting with me is more than enough for one night.” Flake’s withering look encompassed both Paul and Richard who was snickering quietly.

“It would be easier for him to stay in my room than risk disturbing your family,” Richard pointed out. “And I’d only offer to share if he wasn’t fit to ride home,” he grinned. “I’d prefer very different company, no offense, Paul.”

”None taken,” Paul climbed into the saddle. “Anyway, my father’s staying with my sister for a few days so there’s no man in the house. I need to get home.”

Flake nodded his understanding but still worried at his cheek, “Going by the old road?”

“Unless you know of a shorter way,” Paul replied cheerfully. “Anyway, it’s a perfectly clear night. Imagine the moon on the water of Drake’s pond.”

“Keep an eye out for naked men there,” Richard teased.

“There wouldn’t be much worth looking at after swimming in cold water,” Paul countered. “Anyone going skinny dipping at night in late October is a lunatic and I’d rather avoid them.”

“Good,” Flake interjected. “Ride straight home and don’t speak to strangers.” His tone was odd, as though he were forcing a lightness he did not feel. Paul glanced at him and Flake tried a smile which fell as flat as his joke.

“Listen to Father Flake,” Richard, all his attention on the horse, had missed Flake’s mood and continued on with all the subtlety of a plough. “You’d better be off before all you’re offered for breakfast tomorrow is cold porridge and colder looks.”

“Fair point. Goodnight,” Paul clicked to Minette and was soon on his way, in the opposite direction his family had taken earlier in the evening. Richard and Flake watched him down the road.

“See you home, Flake?”

“It’s two streets away and you’re not dressed for it,” Flake gestured at Richard’s shirt and waistcoat. “Besides, the worst thing I’ll face is Frau Keller at her front window, noticing the time I’m getting home.”

“Why won’t she be asleep?”

“Two sets of twins under the age of four. Someone’s always wet, hungry or sick.” Flake got an honest chuckle out of Richard’s horrified expression. “Goodnight, Richard.”

Richard slipped back into the bar which was empty now of all but the staff. One of the grooms was eating bread and cheese near the fire, surrounded by those barmaids who lived at the inn. “I told you,” the man’s tone was short with exasperation. “Your fine gentleman left no horse - beautiful or otherwise - with us. Walking was evidently good enough for him!”

Richard sat at the bar across from Till who was adding up the night’s takings and sighed gustily. “Don’t fuss,” Till glanced up from his figures, “Give the girls a few days to forget and you’ll be all the rage again.”

Deciding it was beneath his dignity to bandy words with Till, Richard swiped a bottle sitting on the bar without looking too closely at it and strode deliberately through the door marked ‘Staff Only’ on his way upstairs to his room. Five minutes later, Till only grinned when Greta demanded to know where her lemon oil and beeswax polish had gone.


End file.
